


florida kilos

by thisisthefamilybusiness



Series: got your bible, got your gun [2]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Crime Lord, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Boot Worship, Cocaine, Coming In Pants, Danger Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Drugs, Facials, Hair-pulling, Knifeplay, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Humiliation, Razors, Recreational Drug Use, Size Kink, Weapons Dealing, none of this kink was negotiated and there is no safeword but they're both really into it, that thing where you kind of step on someone's dick?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 11:56:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15640254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisthefamilybusiness/pseuds/thisisthefamilybusiness
Summary: It’s not like Jacob isn’t attractive. Jacob looks like he could snap Staci in half and for whatever reason--piss-poor survival instincts, probably, just look at what his life has become after all, maybe some terrible wires in his brain that crossed his sense of danger with arousal--that gets him worked up. He’s the kind of guy Staci’d probably meet at a club and take home but never ever the kind of guy Staci would admit he’s into to anyone except himself and his right hand.And he knows there’s a reason Jacob’s kept him around. There’s some godforsaken reason that Jacob has kept him as his--his personal assistant, taking his damn notes at meetings and making him coffee.In which Jacob Seed deals weapons for his brother's drug empire, and Staci Pratt is a narc in too deep.





	florida kilos

It’s the worst fucking idea Staci’s ever had. 

He doesn’t even know if it’ll fucking work, and if he fucks up, he’s dead. Not metaphorically dead, literally dead. Joseph Seed will mail his fucking head to his mother, and he’ll be the Seed family’s favorite example of what happens to traitors.

But shit, he needs to fucking do something. He’s not sure how much more he can fucking take. Staci runs his fingers through his hair, forcing himself to breathe through his nose. They already know. They know. Jacob Seed knows he’s a fucking narc, and he hasn’t had Staci killed yet, for some fucking reason. He’s known for at least a month now and Staci’s still alive. 

Which means that the odds of Staci’s head ending up shipped first-class back to fucking Montana are somewhat reduced, right? 

Maybe. Maybe. Shit. Staci shouldn’t have done that fucking line, his hands are shaking. Should have stuck to the pills, but when Jacob motherfucking Seed personally offers you a line of coke you have maybe three seconds to decide if it’s worth risking pissing him of by refusing. God. If his mother ever knew he was snorting cocaine off a fucking drug lord’s living room table in Miami, she’d tear his head off before Joseph Seed ever got the chance.

Maybe. Whatever. It doesn’t fucking matter, because Staci’s about to do something fucking stupid. Staci splashes some cold water on his face, trying to hide the fact that his entire body is clammy, staring at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror.  He can do this. Shit. He can fucking do this. 

It’s not like Jacob isn’t attractive. God, fuck no. Jacob looks like he could snap Staci in half and for whatever reason—piss-poor survival instincts, probably, just fucking look at what his life has become after all, maybe some terrible wires in his brain that crossed his sense of danger with arousal—that gets his dick hard. He’s the kind of guy that Staci likes in porn, the kind of guy he’d probably meet at a club and take home but never ever the kind of guy Staci would admit he’s into to anyone except himself and his right hand. 

And he knows there’s a reason Jacob’s kept him around. There’s some godforsaken reason that Jacob has kept him as his—his fucking _ personal assistant _ , taking his fucking notes at meetings and making him fucking coffee. Shit. Staci’s mind is racing, faster than his thoughts can process. Fuck, that coke was a mistake, but it’s too late now. 

It’s too late now, and Staci’s got a perfect shot at getting closer, at getting the edge he needs and maybe even an upper hand, for once, and he can’t fucking throw that away. 

So terrible idea or not, Staci’s going to go out there, and he’s going to suck Jacob fucking Seed’s cock, and he’s going to worm his way up from Jacob’s bitch intern to the fucking top, and the minute the bathroom door closes behind him Staci puts on an expression he hopes isn’t too visibly nervous.

Come on, Pratt. Get your shit together. 

Jacob’s still sitting there on the couch, leaning back comfortably in the white leather as he twirls the razor blade he’d used to cut lines between the fingers of his left hand. Shit. Fuck. Staci rubs his eyes hard enough that he can see stars behind his closed eyes and takes a shaky deep breath. God. He’s sucked dick before. Maybe not such high stakes dick, but same concept. He’s even been told he’s pretty fucking good at it, too.

“Can I help you?” Jacob says, blade stilling between his fingertips, staring across the whitewashed living room. He’d done a line of coke, too, but he was steadier. Staci’s done coke like three times in his entire life. Jacob’s probably been doing blow for two decades now or something. 

Fuck, it’s hot in this ugly ass living room. Who the fuck builds a mansion in Miami and decorates it in all white shit like it’s still 1990? Staci pops the top few buttons on his shirt, walks unsteadily to stand between Jacob’s spread knees on the couch. Jacob stares up at him expectantly, the barest hint of a smirk on his face. “You gonna do something, Peaches? Or are you just gonna stand there?” 

Staci just drops to his knees, runs his palms up the worn-soft denim covering Jacob’s thighs. He rests his forehead on Jacob’s knee as he traces his fingers over the silver metal of Jacob’s belt buckle. 

“Oh, don’t be fucking boring,” Jacob tsks, his right hand tangling in Staci’s hair and pulling his head back to bare Staci’s throat. Suddenly there’s the sharp press of skin-warm metal against Staci’s Adam’s apple, and Staci reflexively swallows, eyes going wide. It’s the razor blade, the razor Jacob had been playing with earlier, the razor he’d cut the coke into rails with. Brand new and fresh out of the box still sitting on the glass coffee table top. Sharp, dangerous, pressed right against his artery in his neck. The edge is just barely cutting into Staci’s skin, and his fucking traitor cock twitches in his jeans at both the hint of pain and the disappointed look on Jacob’s face. “Come on, Peaches, you can do better than that.” 

Staci whimpers. Honest-to-god whimpers. Shit. He needs to not be vulnerable right now, but he can’t focus his goddamn thoughts. Jacob lets go of his hair and the razor is tossed onto the couch at his side, sparkling silver against white leather. Fuck. Shit, oh, shit.  Staci whimpers again. 

Jacob’s booted left foot comes down on Staci’s right shoulder, shoving him back on his heels as Jacob clicks his tongue again. “If I wanted my cock sucked, I could have somebody a lot better at it than a coked-up nobody.  Sorry, Peaches.”

And then the sole of Jacob’s tan boot is pressed up against Staci’s crotch, just hard enough to be uncomfortable against his cock. “How cute. You really that worked up over nothing?” 

Staci bites his lip hard enough to taste the copper tang of his own blood. This was a bad fucking idea. But his fucking dick twitches anyway, because his entire fucking body is betraying him. “Fuck you,” Staci manages to grind out, but it doesn’t hold any of the hate he means it to. Shitty fucking idea. 

Jacob laughs, presses his boot a little harder into Staci’s cock. Staci’s hips twitch abortively into it. Fuck. This was not the fucking plan. Shit. “Oh, come on, Peaches,” he murmurs, lazily stretching his arms out on the back of the couch. “You want it that badly? The boot’s all you’re getting.” 

It’s the coke. It’s the fucking drugs and his absolutely betrayer of a cock and it’s not at all because Staci is just genuinely getting off to this shit. Fuck. 

He grinds against the sole of Jacob’s boot anyway, pressing his cheek to Jacob’s knee, moving in awkward bucks of his hips. Shit. Staci dares to glance up, just for a second. Just to see Jacob’s face. 

Jacob looks bored. Like it’s fucking boring to have Staci grinding on his boot and shit, Staci very nearly feels offended until he looks back down and sees that Jacob’s jeans are tented, and fuck. Fuck, Jacob was fucking into this. Into Staci, into Staci kneeling at his feet and humping his leg like he’s a fucking dog in heat. 

Not such a shitty idea. Maybe not. 

“You having a good time down there, Peaches?” Jacob’s got the razor in his fingers again, spinning it uselessly. Fuck. It should not be hot. It should not be hot to fucking chafe his cock against his boxers and jeans, against the tan rubber sole of Jacob’s fatigue boots. Jacob  _ fucking  _ Seed. 

Maybe it was a shitty idea. Staci doesn’t fucking know anymore, his brain feels like it’s short-circuiting. “Fuck you, asshole,” Staci hisses. “Fuck you, fuck you.”

“Aw, you don’t really mean it, do you?” Jacob clicks his tongue. “You might hurt my feelings, baby.” He presses his foot down harder, until Staci actually winces, even though the pain does nothing to keep him from twitching like it was a caress because apparently all the fucking drugs have scrambled his brain that badly. 

Jacob moves quicker than Staci’s mind can process it, one of his calloused hands tangled in Staci’s hair again, and shit, his hands are so fucking  _ big _ . Jacob could fucking  _ wreck  _ Staci. His face is close enough to Staci’s now that Staci can make out the glossy pink and mottled icepick scars that cover Jacob’s cheeks and forehead. 

There’s the edge of the razor against Staci’s jawline, catching in his patchy stubble, cool metal dragging downwards toward Staci’s collarbone with just enough pressure to scrape, leave a deep red line without really splitting the skin. 

Staci lets out a little abortive noise, somewhere between another fucking whimper and a moan. Shit. Shit, Jacob Seed is going to fucking slit his throat in this fucking white living room while he has a fucking boner and his good Christian mother is going to find out that her beloved little Staci died fucking an international weapons dealer on cocaine—

But Jacob just laughs and pulls the razor back. “You wanna be good for me, Peaches?” 

Staci nods before he lets himself think about it. He has nothing left to fucking lose, doesn’t he? 

Jacob lets go of his hair and pats him on the head gently, like Staci’s a fucking dog. “You’re gonna come in your pants like a good little bitch, and then you’re gonna sit there and watch me, got it?” 

Staci swallows. Oh, fuck. His mouth is too fucking dry, and he can’t fucking think, but he nods anyways, bracing his elbows and forearms back on the coffee table so he can work his cock against the flat sole of Jacob’s boot easier. 

Shit. It’s good. It’s so fucking good, and it doesn’t fucking matter that Jacob still looks like he’s bored because Staci  _ saw  _ his cock twitch when Staci whimpered a second ago. It’s good even though Staci knows his cock is going to be raw as hell for the next few days, even though it fucking hurts a little. But, shit. Maybe it was so good because it hurt a little. Staci’s liked it when people pulled his hair, slapped him around a little before, but none of them, none of them came close to this.

Staci makes a fucking embarrassing noise as he comes in his fucking jeans, shaking apart like he’s sixteen and dry-humping his high school sweetheart in the backseat. 

It’s probably the best orgasm he’s ever had in his life. Fuck. 

He pitches himself forwards, settles his cheek on Jacob’s knee as he struggles to catch his breath. Oh, shit. 

Jacob’s fingers go for his own belt, prying the buckle apart and pulling his fly open. Goddamn, he’s big, cockhead flushed red. Staci would probably choke on it, a thought that makes his cock throb, over-sensitive. 

God, now that the rush of his orgasm is fading he feels disgusting, come drying tacky against his boxers and the high from the coke still buzzing around his brain. Staci shifts on his knees, flexing his toes so they don’t fall asleep, trying to keep his eyes on Jacob’s cock. Shit. 

Shit. Jacob groans, rough and deep, and he fucks into his own fist, hips hitching into the movement. 

Goddamn. 

Jacob takes his free hand and laces it back into Staci’s hair, tightening his grip in it enough to pull at Staci’s scalp, a little edge of pain that makes Staci wince now that he’s not aroused anymore. Jacob huffs a noise that might have been a laugh and his hand speeds up on his cock, a steady blur. “You a masochist, Peaches? Is this what does it for you?” 

“Fuck off,” Staci mumbles, reaching up with his right hand to pick at one of the threads hanging from the worn knees of Jacob’s jeans. His fucking brain feels like it’s still going two thousand miles an hour. Fuck, he’s never doing coke again. Not even if Jacob fucking Seed offers it. 

Wrong answer. Jacob jerks Staci’s face back by his hair and Staci lets out another fucking whimper. Oh shit. Oh, shit. Staci’s fucked up and Jacob’s actually going to fucking kill him--

But instead Jacob sighs and comes, hand stripping his own dick and cockhead peeking out of his fist, and Staci doesn’t even have the fucking time to register in his head what’s happening until the first rope of Jacob’s come hits his cheekbones.

_ Motherfucker. _

Staci closes his eyes and squeezes them tight, blindly fucking hoping that Jacob has the common courtesy to not get fucking come in his eyelashes. 

Yeah. This was a bad fucking idea. 

Jacob fucking laughs, slaps Staci’s cheek lightly with his fingertips. “Look good like that, Peaches. Real fucking pretty.” His voice is so fucking steady, which for some goddamn reason is pissing Staci off. Fuck him. Fuck Jacob Seed. Shit.

Staci doesn’t reply, just wipes at his brow with the back of his hand to make sure come isn’t going to drip in his eyes and stumbles back to the bathroom. Fuck him. Fuck. Bad fucking idea.

Truly a bad fucking idea. Staci shivers as he turns the faucet on, intentionally avoiding the huge mirror above the sink as he splashed cool water on his face. 

“I don’t give second chances, Peaches,” Jacob murmurs, standing in the doorway of the bathroom like a fucking cat who got the cream, belt already back in place and looking no different than he had thirty minutes ago. “Especially not to people who want to destroy my family.” Staci’s stomach lurches as Jacob settles a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

“Yeah?” Staci says, trying to sound confident. Like he has no idea what the hell Jacob is talking about. Shit. 

Jacob’s face settles into a smile. “But my little brother’s always talking about forgiveness. And you know what? Maybe he’s got a point. After all, Peaches, you finally got interesting.” 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> the title is a song by lana del rey 
> 
> [here's my tumblr](http://www.officialclaricestarling.tumblr.com/) if you wanna talk or just, like, chill out with me


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